After the Fire (35 page)

“Well, okay, but what about our important discussion? Can we continue it tonight?”

She was not ready. She must get away to think. She must figure out how to tell him about it all, the divorce, the children, the fire…. She had a mountain to climb.

Uncertain about what to answer, she said, “You forget that I'm going to my mother's house for a few days and I'm leaving this afternoon.”

“Well, hurry back, will you?”

“Of course I will, as fast as I can, you know that.”

“While you're gone, I'll go apartment hunting. Want to bet that I'll have found a great place by next week? Have a good time. Say hello to your mother for me, and to Emma and Jerry. I'm waiting to meet them all.”

Not five minutes later, Arnie called. He was abrupt. “I want to see you tonight, Hy.”

She did not want to see him and was beginning to say
so, when he insisted, “Tonight, Hy. It's important. In the restaurant at my hotel at nine.”

“Arnie, you're worrying me. Is anything wrong?”

“Yes, and then again, no. But we need to talk.”

At least the children, at Francine's house, were all right. Obviously then, this was to be all about Will.

In the evening she came prepared to upbraid him at once for last night, but the first sight of him showed that he was troubled, and she did not. His lavish silvery hair, always so carefully tended and waved, was tousled, and his hand-painted imported tie was askew.

“I didn't sleep last night,” he announced as he took his seat on the other side of the table. “It was one of the worst nights I've ever had, and I don't mind telling you.” He waved away wine and waved away the menu. “Order something, Hy. Whatever you want, I'll eat. I don't feel like eating, anyway. Haven't had a thing in my mouth all day except coffee.”

“I haven't felt very well either, Arnie. First, before we say anything else, tell me why you kept harping on that subject last night? You must have known what you were doing to me. When you said that about felony-murders. I could hardly believe it was you saying it.”

“Did you know what I was feeling when your boyfriend showed those pictures? I went into a rage. I couldn't help it. I'm sorry, Hy.” And as he leaned forward within inches of her face, Arnie's familiar, friendly eyes became hard, copper-colored slits. “He's your lover, isn't he? Level with me.”

“We love each other,” she answered simply.

Now, drawing back, he gave a low whistle. “Right here under my nose! I was waiting for you, Hyacinth. Didn't you realize that? I thought we had a—an understanding. A relationship, or whatever you call it.”

The light revealed a drop of sweat on his forehead. And because he had never seemed to be a person whom one would associate with suffering, it astonished her that he should be feeling it so deeply. Then, ashamed of having made so superficial a judgment, she felt both guilt and pity.

With a break in her voice, she answered, “I'm sorry, too. I thought we were just very, very good friends. I never meant, I never would deceive you.”

“You knew we were more than good friends! You can't tell me you didn't.”

On the fifth floor, directly above this table, was the room with the bed. It flashed now before her: a fancy cream-colored headboard against striped wallpaper and a pair of lamps with pink shades on either side. She had been standing not more than fifteen feet away from that bed and far less than fifteen minutes from lying in it. They had been two warm, eager bodies, she with her breast already bared. Of course she had known!

“You never made it clear to me,” she said awkwardly.

“I saw how confused you were, and I gave you time to get over your troubles. You had the kids, your work, and the other business on your mind.”

The other business.

At the piano across the room, a young man was singing one of those old love songs from the 1930s that never seemed to go out of fashion. Somebody at the next
table was humming along. A cork popped. Did anybody ever have, or could anybody here, in the midst of all this velvety comfort, imagine something like “the other business”? Her thoughts had already strayed from Arnie, so she brought them back to him, repeating, “I'm sorry. I never meant to deceive you. Believe me.”

When the dinners were placed before them, he took a mouthful and laid down the fork, declaring, “Fact is, after your friend brought up the subject last night, I kept it going on purpose. I wanted to hear how he might deal with you if he ever should know, God forbid that he ever should.”

“God forbid? But I have to tell him. The trouble is that I don't know how, or else I haven't got the courage.”

“You really want to marry him, Hy?”

“Yes. Oh, yes!”

“I'll be damned, that's all I can say. I'll be damned. I can't get it through my head. Close as we've been, and the kids and all. Oh, I know I'm not like him, Hy. He's good-looking, not that I'm so bad, but he's more your age, and—oh, I know his type—high-class music and books, the stuff you like. But I'd do all that, too, to please you. You bet I would. And with me—well, there are no secrets. See? You're scared to tell him, and you should be. You damn well should be, Hy.”

The emphasis alarmed her, and she cried out, “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, lowering his voice to a secretive tone, “because he won't like it. You heard him talking about that case of theirs. It was a case exactly like yours.
He'll hesitate, or maybe he'll be scared away right off the bat. And he's got family, hasn't he? He'll talk it over with somebody he trusts. He'll want another opinion, and he'll get it. You'd better believe he'll get it. Take my word, Hy. If there's one thing I know, it's people. Nobody fools me.”

True enough. Arnie had all the marks of a man who knew his way about the world.

Nevertheless, she spoke bravely. “Then I'll marry him without telling him.”

Arnie frowned. “Oh, no. You'd never last more than a couple of weeks that way. People can't live together and keep things like that buttoned up inside. The secret would torment you. Every time you looked at him or touched him in bed, you'd feel you ought to tell him. And what then? Do you think any man would appreciate getting a hell of a present like that one dumped on him after he's just put the ring on your finger? What kind of a marriage do you think you'd have then? Or would you have any marriage? You want another divorce? And with the secret out? Once it's out, you know, it's out, let me tell you. And then there goes everything—big job, good name, kids, the whole works. No, you're better off the way you are, Hy. Take it from me. I wasn't born yesterday. And neither was your friend Will. He's on the way up in the world, and he doesn't need to carry your troubles in his luggage.”

“Why don't you stop this? I never knew you could be so cruel,” she cried angrily. Yet when she took out a handkerchief to wipe her eyes, Arnie looked away. For a man so blunt-spoken, he also had unusual delicacy.

“Why do I love you? Why do you love me?”
the man sang at the next table. People were laughing.

She took a forkful of mashed potatoes. She needed to be home in her bed in the dark with the blanket drawn over her face. She needed Will. Yet not right now, or until there was some light at the end of this tunnel. Her thoughts were raging and battling in her head.

“Either way, it's not easy,” Arnie said.

She did not catch his meaning until he continued, “I hate to tell you, but you've got something else to think about besides love right now. The kids aren't happy. There've been changes.”

“Changes?” she whispered.

“Gerald's had a visitor all summer, one of his singers, starlets, or whatever you want to call her. She doesn't get along with the kids. Maybe it started because they don't like her. She takes Gerald's time—when he's not working—and that means less time for them. He plays tennis with her, for instance, instead of with Jerry. That kind of thing. Look, I'm no psychologist, but that's what I think. And a couple of weeks ago, they had a big run-in, something about Charlie, the dog, you know. She hit it, and Emma went wild and hit her. Then Eareen—some crazy, invented name—no, Arveen—slapped Emma, and Jerry pitched into Arveen. It's a mess. I heard about it from the nanny. Now the nanny's quit the job. Too much for her, she said.”

“Arnie, why didn't you tell me this before?”

“What would be the use? What can you do about it? It's not child abuse. You can't notify the police.”

Quite so. Gerald was the custodian. She had signed
away her rights, and now she was helpless, sitting here speechless and limp while he cavorted in Florida.

“I told Gerald to get another nanny. The first one was kind of a pill, but she was good to them. The kids want her back, but she's already got another job. Looks as if the starlet's there to stay awhile. He's attached to her, the way a woman gets attached to a piece of jewelry and wears it every day, even on the beach.” Arnie gave a sardonic chuckle. “Well, well, I was his age once. Now I've learned enough to look for quality in a woman, not tinsel.”

Hyacinth's mind had been racing ahead. Her anger at Arnie had evaporated. “Arnie,” she pleaded, “you've been so good, so wonderful, you've acted like a father. So do you think you could call an agency down there and find another nanny? You'd know what to look for. Will you?”

“They don't really want another nanny, Hy. What they want is you. That's the long and the short of it. They want their mother. They tell me. Out on horseback and jogging along, we talk. I hate to hurt you, but you might as well know the truth.”

“What am I going to do?” she wailed, so bitterly that the waiter who had come to refill the coffee cups was startled.

“I don't know. You've got too much on your plate, that I do know. I will say this, though: If you were down there with me, I could probably influence Gerald. In fact, I'm sure I could put a little pressure on him. We get along fine, I don't mean that. But money—contracts, real estate, mortgages held in common—well, you see how it is.”

What she saw was a long path leading from herself, to Will, and to her children. The path was crooked and dark, filled with obstacles. And seeing no way past them, she sat across from Arnie with nothing to say. Evidently he, too, had nothing more to say.

At last he spoke. “You're going to Francine's this week?”

“I hadn't planned to leave till Thursday, but I need to go sooner. I'd go tonight if it weren't already so late.”

“Why don't you confide in your mother? She might suggest something.”

Hyacinth shook her head. “No. She's had enough with the loss of Dad. She's had enough on her mind. I don't want to crush her.”

“I didn't mean telling her about the fire. You didn't think I meant that, did you?”

“Of course not.”

“I meant the kids. And you and Will. Ask her what she thinks.”

It was quite clear to Hyacinth that Arnie wanted Francine to plead a case for him. And grasping his hand, she spoke from a full heart.

“There will never be time enough to thank you for everything you do,” she said.

“You thank me too much, Hy. Just don't forget that I'm here for you. And if you ever fall, I'll pick you up.”

Arnie had been right about the children. Hyacinth had not been long at Francine's house before she saw that. The dog Charlie had come with them, and one of the
first things they had to tell was about the day Arveen had hit him.

“Mommy! She wanted to kill Charlie,” Emma said. “Do you know what I'll do if she does? I'll kill her. I'll buy a big gun and I'll blow her head off the way those boys do in school, the ones on TV.”

Emma's face, distorted in righteous anger, was unfamiliar. Every time I see her, thought Hyacinth, she looks unfamiliar, and it is not only because she is a few weeks or even a few months older. Experience and emotion have left their marks. Right now Emma looks as she may after four or five more years are added to her age: vindictive, with tight lips and narrowed eyes. Her little fists are clenched.

Trying to soothe, she explained, “I'm sure she didn't mean to hurt Charlie. She was probably sorry she hit him. Sometimes people lose their tempers and afterward they know they were wrong.”

“She wasn't sorry. You don't even know her, so how can you say she was sorry?”

“She's a bitch,” Jerry said.

“What?” cried Francine. “I've told you a dozen times this week not to use that word anymore.”

“Everybody uses it. You're old-fashioned. Everybody's grandmother is old-fashioned, and everybody says bitch.” And Jerry, giggling, was so pleased with his own wit, that he had to jump up out of the chair and upset his jigsaw puzzle.

“Oh damn, damn, damn!” he said. “Son of a bitch, I've worked on this goddamn thing ever since we got here, and now look.”

Francine's silence was in deference to the children's mother, and the mother was astonished. How could Gerald, as precise and formal as he was, allow this language?

So using the two words she most avoided, Hyacinth quietly asked Jerry whether “your father” ever heard him speak that way.

Jerry laughed. “He can't stop us. Arveen says worse words, Mom, but he can't make her stop, either. Arveen is the boss.” Once launched on his speech and in possession of an audience, he continued, “And do you know why? Because she's stacked, that's why.”

“Stacked?”

“Yes. Like this,” said Jerry with a knowing leer and the appropriate rounded gestures.

Something had gone terribly wrong. The two women stared at each other as if asking what was to be done.

Perhaps nothing, and ignore it for the time being? You couldn't keep a boy his age in the nursery. And once he left it, he moved ahead into a world where he saw and heard things you didn't like. It was only to be expected, and more so than ever these days. On the other hand, must the world move into the home and take it over? Arveen, whoever she is, should not be a model for
my children,
thought Hyacinth. The repetition thundered in her head.

The dog got up, shook itself, and went to lie down again near Emma's feet. The softness of the little creature, only a heap of silky hair over fragile bones, moved her to pity. It was so innocent in its trust, so vulnerable to any cruelty that might come its way. It was like Emma.